Hers To Protect

CHAPTER FOUR

VIOLET HANDED THE document to the bondsman, who scribbled something illegible on it and handed her the cash.

She stapled the paperwork together and went to the cell block, unable to help the wave of incompetence that swept through her veins. Deflated and riddled with guilt for the disappointment she’d caused Detective Davis, she was in no mood for gloating from Josh Stevens.

She squared her shoulders as she tucked in her shirt and smoothed her uniform slacks. It was the end of the day, and all she wanted was a hot bath. But first, she had this duty to perform.

She handed the paperwork to Trey as the metal door closed behind her.

“He said his manager would pull through,” Trey said, smiling.

“Had a nice chat, did you?”

“Oh, we did. Josh has the most amazing stories. You know he’s raced in Europe and...”

“Not now, Officer. I’m here to release him.”

Josh was sitting on the bare bench inside the cell. He looked up at her. “Nice jail you have.”

“This isn’t the jail. We use this room to house criminals we know will only be here a few hours. Like you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Fine.” She motioned to Trey. “You can open it up.”

Josh stood. “I’m being released?”

“Yes. It’s my duty to inform you that you will have to return to Indian Lake in ten days for a hearing. At that time, I will give my testimony to the judge. You will give yours or your lawyer will speak for you. That’s your call. What happens next will be up to the judge.”

“What’s typical in cases like mine?”

“There aren’t many cases like yours.”

“Okaaay. Similar cases.”

“He or she may give you a fine. And the speeding ticket will be reported on your record as well as the charge of resisting arrest.”

Josh walked to the open jail door. “And the endangerment to others?”

“That, too.”

Violet struggled to remain calm. She took a step back from him, wondering how he could smell like clean soap and spicy cologne after most of the day in lockup.

Just looking at him reminded her that she’d bungled her job, and badly. All her life, she’d prided herself on her instincts and her intuition. She’d relied on those instincts when she’d started the chase after Josh, believing him to be the drug lord. She had wrongly mistaken his Bugatti as Miguel Garcia’s car.

She handed Josh his release papers.

“Well, Officer Hawks, I can tell you that my attorney is not only smart but effective. This speeding ticket and the other trumped-up charges you’ve brought against me won’t fly. As far as I’m concerned, you stole a day of my life. My agent has been dodging calls all day about my whereabouts. And the fallout I’m going to face once the story gets out that you, Officer Hawks, chose to incarcerate me to make yourself look good to your superiors...”

Violet opened her mouth to speak, her words coming in an indignant squawk. “Mr. Stevens,” she managed, “this disruption in your life is your fault. Not mine. Apparently, you haven’t learned there is a price to pay for your behavior.”

“Behavior? Your hot-headed reaction is to blame here. My guess is that because you’re so young, you haven’t been doing this long. So, I’m going to give you that, Officer Hawks. I’ve told my attorney I won’t sue you, the city or the county. But trust me, this bust you made is gonna go away.”

Violet’s nerves jangled from the tip of her skull to her toes. She had to remember that Josh Stevens was the kind of person who thought he had the upper hand—always. And she’d had just about enough.

Instead of losing her cool, she smiled as charmingly as she could. “I appreciate your position, Mr. Stevens. In ten days we’ll see how it all falls out. In the meantime, please understand. You aren’t the only one with responsibilities. I have people who depend on me and my judgment, as well. They aren’t my entourage as you label your people. I call mine family.”

She turned to Trey. “Please see Mr. Stevens to the front door, Officer. Make sure he has his cell phone and belongings upon his departure.”

She turned and walked out of the cell block.

CHAPTER FIVE

TRUE TO HIS WORD, the Indian Lake County deputy sheriff had brought Josh’s Bugatti to the police station. Josh walked out looking at his blue baby with its C-shaped sides, the curves that acted to redirect and optimize the airflow into the side intakes. Twin pipe exhaust. Low front aerodynamic hood. The car was masterfully designed. There were only 750 or so sold worldwide. What he had was unique. The engine was a beast at 1,179 horsepower.

“She thought she could outrun me?” He snorted as he walked to the car, opened the door and climbed into the luxurious leather cockpit. “Officer Hawks, you are such a rookie.”

And just then he saw Violet walk out of the station, her uniform as perfectly pressed as if she hadn’t worn the darn thing all day. Her dark hair had been clipped back all day, but now, she’d pulled out the clip as she walked. Her hair fell well below her shoulders, like a veil of dark satin. It shone, and a gentle spring breeze lifted long locks around her face. He held his breath.

He hadn’t expected that.

She didn’t look at him or his amazing Bugatti. She simply got in her squad car and backed out, pulling away like anyone leaving work after a long day.

He’d half expected her to give him the finger.

But this—ignoring him—showed him she saw him as the criminal she said he was. He stared at the finely stitched leather-covered steering wheel that he knew the finest artisans had skillfully sewn. He turned on the engine and heard it hum, promising adventures unimagined.

Some adventure today. When he’d braked at the police blockade, he’d lost his temper. People like Officer Violet Hawks, cops with guns on their belts or licensed authority figures who swooped into an orphan’s life and put him in a stranger’s house, jacked him up something fierce.

He had to admit that he’d been a real jerk to her. It wasn’t Violet Hawks who ran up his blood pressure. It was the authority figures she symbolized. Since the day his parents died, Josh had battled every apathetic or on-the-take social worker and fraudulent foster parent. He’d met a ton of cops who thought all foster kids had chips on their shoulders and “should appreciate what the state gives them.”

“Authority” to young Josh had meant lies, abuse and torment. And then he’d found his calling. Cars.

It was always about the cars.

When he was very young, he thought he could drive himself away from his awful, abuse-filled life. He believed that once he could drive, he’d never feel powerless again.

By the time he was eleven, he’d taught himself how to fix everything on a car that could be fixed. Through high school he learned more by hanging out with mechanics in garages. He worked his way through tech college to learn electronic and computer systems in cars. Then, one day, while test-driving a new Mercedes engine he’d put in an attorney’s car in Indianapolis, his life changed.

Paul Saylor was the man who had caused that change. Paul had been a car buff and he was rich. He saw Josh’s driving skills that first day. Paul was influential and he represented many of the race car owners, some drivers and even pit crew bosses. Paul was Josh’s entrée into the racing world.

Today, Paul was his attorney. Josh would always be grateful to the man for everything he’d done for him.

Paul was family to Josh.

“Family.”

Josh looked down Maple Boulevard in the direction Violet had driven. Her comment about having family hit him hard. Josh had been very young when his parents died, and even now he could remember the smell of lavender on his mother’s skin when she held him close. He could hear his father’s wing tips on the wood stairs when he came home late from work and came to check on Josh.

“But they left me,” he whispered, feeling wrenched again straight across his midsection.

He would give the world to feel his mother’s hug again. And hear her voice telling him that she loved him. Even his father’s seldom-heard laugh would be a gift. Just one more time.

That was why he drove so very, very fast. He felt closest to them when he pushed the limits of speed. As if he could almost touch them. He had no intention of crashing, but he also couldn’t resist the urge to go just a little faster.

Today, when he’d been racing down the country road, he’d been thinking about his mother. He owned a car that went nearly three hundred miles an hour, but it was no Rolls-Royce turbofan engine that could hit supersonic speeds of over seven hundred miles per hour.

Josh hung his head, refusing to believe he was teary-eyed, but it had been happening a lot lately. He didn’t want anyone to see his tears. Especially no one in his employ. Not Paul. Certainly not Harry.

Officer Hawks had been right. He didn’t have family and very few real friends, except for Austin and Katia McCreary, and when he was younger, his foster brother Diego.

He pulled out of the police station parking lot and turned south on Maple Boulevard, suddenly curious about what exactly Officer Violet Hawks had meant by family. Did she have a husband? Kids?

The other side of the beautiful boulevard was planted with flowering pear trees, daffodils, tulips and irises. He hadn’t paid much attention to its beauty when he’d driven down it last time he was in town to visit Austin and Katia who lived at the end of the street. It was too late to drive the three hours back to Indianapolis now.

He was more than exhausted. He couldn’t think all that straight. He’d go to Austin’s house and beg a room for the night.

Across from the station was a huge Victorian house. He quickly hit the brake and moved the Bugatti to the curb.

Was that a squad car in the drive?

He couldn’t believe it.

Slowly, he backed the Bugatti so that he could see down the driveway.

“I’ll be...”

Sure enough, Officer Hawks’s squad car was parked at the very end of the drive.

“So this is where you live? Nearly across the street from the police station? Keeping your head in the game, Officer? Always on call? Ever ready?”

Josh hadn’t the first clue why he was interested in his arresting officer. Other than the fact that she’d brought back memories of his parents. Like an old song that played strong and melodic in his head. As much as Violet was focused on her career, Josh sensed that same kind of big heartedness and warmth he remembered his mother having. There was a softness in Violet’s eyes that he read as compassion, and that look made him pause. Made him think. And feel things he hadn’t felt in a really long time.

Josh had spent most of his adult life chasing the next win. He hadn’t stopped to consider what he really wanted.

“Belonging.”

The word rushed out of him like a riptide from the bottom of his heart. To be important to just one person. What would that be like? What would it be like to walk into a room and have Violet’s face light up just because he was there? Not the blaze of fame like he saw in a fan’s face, or the need in those dependent on him, but love.

Was that what he wanted?

Love?

Josh saw lights on the third floor flip on. More lights on the main floor as if the inhabitants had come alive due to Officer Hawks’s coming home.

Did Violet have love in her life? Josh imagined a man kissing her. Perhaps a child holding out its arms for her.

Josh turned the steering wheel and pulled away from the curb, the images in his mind becoming bothersome. He headed to Austin’s, then dialed his friend’s number.

“Austin! It’s Josh! Hey, man. I need to beg a favor.”

Austin chuckled. “Anything.”

“I’m still in town. Can I bum a room?”

“Absolutely. Where are you?”

“Outside your front window.”

“Sweet. I’ll open the second garage. You can park next to my vintage Bugatti.”

Josh drove up the drive, and the back gate opened electronically. There was a short concrete drive around to the second garage. That door opened automatically. Sure enough there was a blue 1926 Bugatti roadster sitting in the bay.

Josh pulled the Chiron inside.

Austin came walking out with a glass of white wine for them both.

Josh exhaled and smiled. “Bro, you are the very best.”

“I think you need this more than I do.”

“Oh, jeez. You heard,” Josh groaned.

“It’s a small town. Come on, Katia and Daisy are making a seafood dinner. I told Katia we’d sit on the terrace. I have the wine in an iced cooler. We can talk.” Austin slung his arm over Josh’s shoulder. “I’m here for you, man.”

“Seriously, I need this. I need you.”

“Yep, friends are the best,” Austin said. “Unless you have family.”

They sat at a glass patio table.

Josh stared at him. Austin’s parents were dead, too. Just like Josh, he was an only child and had no aunts, uncles, nieces or nephews. No wonder they were close.

Just then Katia came out onto the terrace carrying a glass tray of appetizers decorated with tropical flowers. “Josh! How are you?” She placed the tray on the patio table. She bent and kissed his cheek.

“Katia, you are a vision,” Josh said. Then he slid a glance to Austin. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you, dude?”

“It’s the truth. And she’s my vision.”

When Katia looked at Austin, Josh knew she wouldn’t have known if a cyclone blew into town. He’d seen the look of love before, but theirs was so intense, he felt he was interrupting.

“Listen, guys, I know you have a lot to talk about,” Katia said. “Daisy and I are still cracking crabs for dinner. So, take your time. Josh, seriously, always know this is your haven. Okay?”

Josh felt a lump the size of a speed bump in his throat. “Thanks.”

“You okay?” Austin asked as Katia went back inside.

“You’re a lucky man, Austin.”

“I know that. But so are you. I saw that photo of you in Racing People. That girl. What’s her name? Joycelyn? She’s a knockout.”

“Who?”

“Joy—”

“Austin.” Josh shook his head. “She’s an infield girl. That’s for publicity. I don’t have anyone.”

Austin’s eyes widened. He took a long slug of wine. “I thought... Well. That you had your pick.”

“There’s never been anyone special. Certainly no Katia.”

Austin’s gaze went to the wide kitchen window where they both could see Katia and Daisy laughing and poking each other with crab legs. “I’ve loved her all my life.”

Josh felt chills down his back. He’d give anything to say that. To know there was a special someone for him. He didn’t know what it was or why this was happening to him now. Was it being in this small town? Was it the shock of finding himself behind bars? Or was it Officer Hawks? He couldn’t stop thinking about how she looked at him when the jail cell door had clanged shut. If a gong had been struck in his head, he couldn’t have been more affected. He felt derailed, on a new course, and he hadn’t the slightest idea where he was headed.

As much as he daydreamed about a different life, the reality was he’d been living as the image Harry and he had concocted for the media years ago. He was a winner. Women came and went. He was successful, rich and alone.

Quite alone.

Yeah, his dreams were mirages. A life like Austin had would never be possible for Josh.

CHAPTER SIX

VIOLET DUMPED SOME vegetable soup into a bowl and shoved it into the microwave. Her thick black belt, holster, handcuffs and gun were methodically arranged on the sofa table her mother had given her when she moved into Mrs. Beabots’s apartment. Though she’d picked up her clean uniforms from the laundry, Violet had re-pressed the shirt, taking out the tiny crease she’d seen on its back.

She chuckled as she extracted a soup spoon from her organized flatware drawer. Her mother, Connie, often kidded Violet’s compulsive need for order and cleanliness had finally found a purpose in her “spit-shine” world of law enforcement. Violet didn’t think she was all that obsessive. There was right and wrong. Good and evil. Black and white. “And clearly, clean and dirty.”

The microwave dinged. She took out the soup just as her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Violet,” Mrs. Beabots said, “don’t think about eating that sodium-laden canned soup. Come downstairs for dinner. I have pasta and chicken in a pesto sauce. Homemade.”

Violet narrowed her eyes. She’d known Mrs. Beabots since she was a child, and the woman always made her think she had eyes in the back of her head. “How did you know what I’m having for supper?”

“I’m a detective.”

“You saw the cans in my trash bag.”

“That, too. Now come down here for dinner. Sarah and Maddie are coming over. And Liz is bringing wine. Oh! I hear Liz’s truck now. She really does need to get that muffler fixed.”

“See you in a sec.” Violet looked down at her skinny jeans, sky blue high-top sneakers and powder blue turtleneck cotton shirt. She was comfortable and had planned to go for a walk after dinner. Now that it was May, the evenings had finally warmed to a brisk fifty degrees, and she loved the flowering Bradford pear trees and forsythia. Having grown up in the country, she’d never appreciated town living, but after six months living on Maple Boulevard, she’d found it had innumerable charms.

Violet tucked her cell phone in her back pocket and walked down the long staircase to the main floor landing. She heard voices and laughter, and she could smell the aroma of garlic and basil coming from under the door. Her stomach growled. “Guess I do need more than soup.” She knocked on the back kitchen door.

“Come on in, honey,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Door’s always open.”

Violet entered the kitchen to find Sarah Bosworth, the next-door neighbor, architect and mother to Luke Bosworth’s children Annie and Timmy. Sarah and Luke’s toddler, Charlotte, looked just like blonde, cornflower blue–eyed Sarah.

Sarah hugged Violet. “It’s great to see you. Where’re the kids?”

“Luke got pizza and a movie. Need I say more?”

“Nope.”

Next to Sarah was Maddie Barzonni, owner of Cupcakes and Coffee Café, and married to Dr. Nate Barzonni. Maddie was breaking up romaine lettuce leaves into a huge wooden salad bowl and giggling with Liz Barzonni, owner of Crenshaw Vineyards. Liz was removing a cork from a bottle of wine.

“Hi, Maddie.” The women hugged. “Hi, Liz. That a new wine?”

Liz held up the bottle. “Very special pinot noir.”

“Special?” Violet asked.

Mrs. Beabots winked. “Violet. You’re just in time for our toast.”

“Oh? What are we toasting?”

Sarah beamed. “I just beat out the rock star of all Chicago design firms for a new medical complex on the east side of town.”

“I never doubted your design abilities, Sarah,” Maddie said as she took a glass of wine from Liz.

“I know and I love you for it, but there were days...” Sarah looked across the kitchen to the window that looked out on the adjoining yard to her house.

“Hey,” Liz said. “That was after your mother died. Before Luke. Before the kids. You got your juice back.”

“And then some,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet a glass.

They clinked their rims and said, “To Sarah!”

“Congratulations, Sarah,” Violet said. “I know the relief and satisfaction that comes from winning those contracts. Whenever my mother would win a design bid, she’d make us all a nice dinner just like this.” She smiled at them all. “You should be proud.”

“Thanks, Violet,” Sarah said.

Maddie lowered her glass. “Gosh, Violet. Your mom wasn’t one of the other bidders, was she? Connie is so talented, I’d feel terrible if she lost.” Her eyes tracked to Sarah.

“No. She’s working on a high-rise residential tower in Indianapolis.”

“Oh.” Maddie’s relief was audible.

Violet stared at the wine. Indianapolis. Where Josh Stevens lived.

Where had that thought come from and why would she be making that connection? “Um, can I help with any of these preparations? I always made the herbed butter for the bread.”

“Sure,” Mrs. Beabots said, handing Violet the bread knife. “I set the table earlier. This was supposed to be a think-tank dinner and a meeting for the fund-raiser for a new foster child care center I want to spearhead.”

“Really?” Violet unwrapped the silver paper around the Italian bread. “Tell me about it.”

“I want a privately funded and operated family center. No government funds or grants. That way we don’t fall under their jurisdiction, though we will comply with all state and federal regulations. But in the end, our arms will be open to whatever needs there are. Drop-in day care. Possibly a temporary shelter until a family gets back on their feet. I envision job-placement service. Even job training.”

“That’s...an enormous undertaking,” Violet replied, knowing the massive amount of organization and money it would take to create such a center. But it had been done before. The Star of Hope in Houston had been doing it for over a hundred years.

“I’ll need help, of course, getting it off the ground.”

“Did you call Isabelle? Since she and Scott have adopted Bella and Michael, I would think she’d be all over this.”

Smiling, Mrs. Beabots answered, “She was my first call. She’s my committee chair. But little Michael was showing signs of the flu, and she didn’t want to leave him.”

“That flu can be bad,” Sarah said.